Strike A Match
by Hugs-n-Symmetry
Summary: Julia's death, the aftermath, and Eli tries to deal with the pain by taking up a dangerous habit. Strictly a one-shot.


-1-

Rain pounded the soaked sidewalk, pummeling down to the earth in drops. It thumped on the roof, splashed on the windshield, and flew in through the open window. The dark, late evening sky showed the occasional star, the one oddball that wasn't covered by a raincloud. The headlights of oncoming cars shone momentarily in my eyes as I sped down the main street. I tried to hide my enthusiasm, but wasn't very successful. Julia was waiting for me.

I pulled to a stop in front of the diner, turning off Morty and stepping out. The rain hit me hard, but I didn't care. Nothing could ruin this night. It was her fifteenth birthday, and we were going to have dinner together at the diner. And since her parents weren't home, we were going to go back to her house and...Celebrate. For the first time.

I grinned to myself as I walked inside the diner. My eyes scanned over the familiar pool tables, past the many familiar faces from around the neighborhood, and over to the bar where Julia was sitting. I took in the stool she was sitting on, the perfectly straightened state of her blonde-with-natural-brown-highlights hair, the thick eyeliner around her hazel eyes, and the freckles that sprinkled her face. I grinned as I took in what she was wearing at the time, the black blouse with the big yellow buttons, the purple skinny jeans, her gray high tops, and the big black bow in her hair. My grin faded as I took in the guy sitting next to her, and faded even more at the pen Julia was using to scribble something on a scrap of paper, probably a phone number.

Something struck a match inside of me, lighting a flame deep in my gut. I watched from the diner's doorway as Julia grinned that dazzling smile of hers, her lips painted an exotic shade of purple to match her pants. She flipped her hair and slid the phone number across the bar to the guy. As the fucker closed his fingers around it, the flame inside me grew, catching fire to my insides. My heart and my brain raged against each other-my brain trying to find a rational situation to the situation, and my heart wanting to beat the shit outta the guy. I started to take deep breaths, clenching and un-clenching my fists.

I watched painfully as the guy said something to Julia, _my girl, _that made her bite her lip and touch his arm. The fire spread to my head, and pulsated through my veins. My body was filled with it now, this rage, this angry fire, and now my sense of being faded away. The only thought in my brain was, _I gotta punch something._

All feeling in my body seemed to fade away as I approached the guy from behind. Julia was too absorbed in her flirting to notice me. Boldly I tapped the guy on the shoulder. I remember not even knowing what I was doing, just going on impulse I guess. As the flames in my body ignited my clenched fists, the guy turned around, looking a bit irritated that I'd interrupted. As soon as I saw that smug look on his face, I pulled my fist back and aimed. With all the force I was capable of, I launched my fist square at his face, feeling the all-too familiar of his nose crunch under my knuckles. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Julia gasp and back away, but that never seemed to process in my mind. The fire was burning me up now, and it was too late to try and stop it.

I sensed the guy reel back in surprise, but I kept on burning. I threw another punch, this one aimed at his gut. He doubled over in pain, and I took this opportunity to tackle him from behind. We toppled to the floor, and I rolled him over so that I was on top of him, and started beating him, throwing punches at him over and over again, anywhere I could get to. Eventually the guy's tiny brain caught up to what was happening, and he growled and pushed me off of him. The sight of him beaten and bruised calmed the fire down, washing cold, cool water over it and subsiding the burning. I shot up, getting ready to aim one at him again, and he shoved me aside, slamming my ribcage into the side of the bar. I winced in pain, sliding down to the ground.

I watched him leave, heard him mumble, "So not worth it," before he slammed the door.

I gasped and clutched my side, knowing I had bruised a rib or few. Trust me, when you bruise a rib, it feels pretty much like you broke one. Julia rushed to my side, panic in her eyes. "What was that all about?" she hissed, her mouth making thin, angry line. I refrained myself from rolling my eyes, knowing it would only make the situation worse. But amazingly, seeing her beautiful face put out the flames deep in the pit of my gut.

"What were you doing with him?" I asked, breathing heavily, defeated.

She frowned, concern flooding her eyes. "I...he's my...English partner," she sighed.

"Yeah. _Right_," I spat, my eyes burning into hers. For a moment she looked hurt, then defiant, then angry.

"What do you want me to say, Eli? That I'm cheating on you? Why can't you ever _trust_ anyone?"

I gave me a "seriously" look, turning my head to the side and raising my eyebrows at her. "I don't know, why can't I."

She groaned, throwing her hands up. "Typical! Eli, I give up on you." She stood up, turning away.

I shot up, grabbing her arm. Hard. I didn't mean to, I swear. "Don't leave. Please."

She jerked her arm out of my grasp, glaring at me with those beautiful golden-green eyes of hers. "Eli! How am I supposed to deal with this? Once second your some...egotistical _maniac_, and the next you're the sweet, nice guy that I know and love! Which one is it going to be?" Her eyes were pleading now.

"The second one," I said. "Now, go, get in Morty. I think we need to talk this out."

Julia's angry expression faltered for a moment, giving way to a flickering smile that brightened up her whole face. Then it darkened again, and she sighed. "Alright. Let's go then." She took her bag off the bar, and, clutching my side, I led her out of the diner and into the pouring rain outside, to Morty. Expressionless and silent, she opened the back and shoved her bike inside, and still expressionless and silent, she slid inside the door on the passenger's side, setting her bag at her feet and staring blankly out the windshield. I got in the driver's side, and started the hearse, silent all the way. I pulled out into the street and started driving, going down the street a little way. That's when Julia spoke again.

"Are we going to talk about this or what?" she asked blandly, still staring at the windshield. The only noise was the rain pounding on the roof. I pulled to a stop on a lonely side street and cut the engine, letting the street go dark.

"Who is he?" I asked quietly, so quietly that I was sure she couldn't hear me.

"What?" She couldn't.

"Who is he?" I repeated. "That _guy_." The mere memory of him made my insides want to flare up again.

"Eli, he's my English partner. Have a little faith."

I cocked an eyebrow, still not looking at him. "Oh yeah? Why were you giving him your number?"

She scoffed, her eyes wide with disbelief. "So we could work on a project! Eli why are you being like this?"

"I know what I saw," I murmured, eyes cast down. "I saw how he looked at you, Jul, he was practically _undressing you with his eyes!" _I hissed that last part, stressing the importance of it. I saw her roll her eyes.

"Eli, you're overreacting. He did no such thing."

"Don't you get it Julia?" I said, my voice rising. "Guys are always falling all over you! I can't be in a relationship with the girl all the guys want!"

"Ugh!" she cried. "I'm so sick of this! WHY did you have to be the jealous type?"

I whipped my head over, finally looking at her. "_I_ am NOT the jealous type, Julia! This is not my fault!"

"Oh really?" she snapped, crossing her arms. "Then tell me._ Exactly whose fault is it_?"

"Dammit Jules, It's YOURS!" I yelled, finally reaching the breaking point. "Don't you get it, Julia? YOU'RE the cause of all this! You're just a...just a..._whore_!" As soon as the words left my mouth I knew it was a mistake. A really big mistake. The look on her face was beyond hurt, it was just plain miserable. Out of everything I wanted to do, I wanted to tell her I was sorry, over and over again, and that I didn't mean it, and to just hold her in my arms, and stay like that forever. But there was no way she was going for that now. No way in hell.

A tear glistened on the corner of her eye, almost hidden by her nose but not quite down to her cheek yet. Julia Lee Greggory _never _cried. As this realization hit me like an ocean wave, my heart broke in two; it's charred, burnt pieces falling to the floor. "Jules, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Don't call me Jules," she said sharply, swiping at the tear. She sniffled a little. I could see her thick eyeliner running. "I'm sorry Elijah. I don't think I can be with you anymore." Her rueful eyes rose to meet mine, slowly, and carefully. "I don't need you anymore Eli."

My burnt, charred insides flaked and peeled, cringing at this statement. It hurt me. "Fine, go," I snapped, wanting to cry too. "I hope I never see you again."

She opened the door and stepped out of the hearse, circling round back to drag her bike out of the back. She closed the doors again with a slam, and her bike met the pavement with a _clang_. Typical Julia. Her way of telling me she was angry was by slamming things. She never showed it on her face.

She wheeled her bike up to the window, which was already open. "Goodbye Eli," she whispered, still expressionless. She threw her leg over the bike, straddling it, and sat her bottom in the seat. She hit the kickstand with her heel, pushing it up. She looked at me, waiting for a response.

I grunted in reply, not even looking at her. My head hung, looking at my hands, which were picking at each other. She chuckled sarcastically, shaking her head in shame, mumbling, "When will you ever get over yourself?" Placing her feet on the pedals she pushed off, gaining speed as she pedaled harder, getting farther off. Placing distance between us. I fought the urge to drive after her. When she was far enough away I meekly raised my head to watch her ride off, watching the way her blonde hair flew out behind her like a curtain. Her long legs pumped at the pedals; she was strong, and not just physically. She'd been through so much, and I knew I was just adding to the total count. But, the farther she got, the lower I got, and the worst part? She never looked back.

A tear slid down my cheek as I realized I was wrong. It was _my_ fault.

-2-

Cold, bitter wind whisked its way across the park. But I did not shiver. I stood there, hard as a stone, not watching, not listening as the priest blessed the ashes. I did not want to listen; I did not want to watch. They had burnt her. My Julia. Burnt her into ashes and now just throwing her on the ground like a piece of trash. It made me sick.

She was ashes, charcoal, now, like the charred remains of my heart. I looked around at everyone, clad in all black. Trying to mourn her. This wasn't a funeral. If this were a funeral there would be a casket, with her beautiful body in it, that we could walk up to and pray in front of and look at her beautiful face for one last time. No one should be acting all depressed like this. Julia wouldn't want it. She'd want us to play My Chemical Romance and have a party and say things like "That bitch is dead, now let's go have some fun."

The pain swelled up inside me, and my eyes stung with tears. "No!" I screeched, seething with rage and frustration. The priest stopped abruptly and everyone turned to stare at me, their eyes turning from mourning to confused.

"This is all wrong!" I screamed. "You've got it all wrong, she's not dead, she can't be! She's going to show up any minute with her beautiful hazel eyes and say, 'Why's everybody so down? Let's go have a party!' Like she always does! Just watch, you'll see."

Julia's mother took a step towards me. "Elijah, Julia's dead—" she started.

"Shut up, you bitch!" I screeched at her. She jumped back a bit, hurt. Swiping the tears from my eyes, I turned and ran.

So I ran. I ran until I couldn't run anymore. I ran down streets, over blocks, across towns, and through cities. I couldn't tell you where I ended up, for I didn't know. I just ran.

When I finally stopped running, I sat down abruptly where I was. I couldn't cry any longer. It seemed like my eyes had run out of tears. I looked around at my surroundings. I was sitting on the curb of a street corner, at night, with a flickering street lamp above me. The icy cold wind bit through my black blazer and skinny jeans, piercing my skin. But I did not flinch, and I did not shiver. I knew the perfect solution to this. To all of my problems.

I thrust my hand into my pants pockets, searching through them. When I didn't find the tool I was looking for I dug through my blazer pockets. A cold, empty grin spread across my face when my fingers closed around a small, cardboard square.

I pulled the box of matches out of my pocket and flipped it open. I ripped a single match off, and stopped, thinking. After a moment I ripped them all off. Hastily, I grabbed one, and quickly brought it across the cold pavement of the sidewalk. Nothing happened; except for a few stray sparks. I did it again, faster. The match lit, a small hot flame appearing on the top of it like magic. That's what it was; magic. Magic is good.

I stared at the flame; which reflected itself in my empty green eyes. Its warmth was enticing. I wanted to sit there forever staring at it. But I couldn't. I had a job to do.

I quickly drew back the sleeve of my blazer, revealing clean, bare arm. I looked back at the flame as it danced closer and closer to my skin. Suddenly, the streetlight above me flickered out. But I had no need for that anyway.

All I needed to see—all I could see was the flame as it came in contact with my skin. I could feel no pain; only pleasure; and I shrieked, shrieked with laughter, as the fire lit up my veins and coursed its way through my body once again.


End file.
